Eliza Haque is just another ordinary girl. She has a loving family, and even more loving friends. Recently having just graduated out of Imperial with her Criminal Psychology degree, she finds herself unemployed. What could be more frustrating than n...
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A/n: drawing attached was done by me
"What should we get you to text her next?" He laughs evilly.
I growl. This was true torture, and he was getting a kick out of this. I was stuck in this dark room, with her pictures everywhere. Her face now permanently engraved into my head, every single feature. My hands are tied. With rope. Hurting me with every sign of struggle I showed.
"Please," I try to speak, my throat feeling dry and scratchy. "Stop it."
He carries on ignoring me, as he had been for the past few days.
"Hmmm, I know what you should do, Saleh my friend," he says in a menacing tone. I frown, not liking where this was heading. Why is he so hellbent on hurting her- hurting me?
"S-stop,"
"Sorry, did you say something?" He asks, turning to face me. He was sporting an innocent look which slowly turned into a cruel smirk. He walked closer to me, picking up a bottle of water. Unscrewing it he shoves the neck of the bottle onto my lips, water starts to flow down my tongue and into my throat soothing the dryness. Then I push the bottle away with my mouth.
"Wanna know what day it is today?"
"No, but I have a feeling you'll tell me anyway."
"Always have been the smart one, haven't you?" He chuckles, "but clearly I've managed to outsmarted you, or how would you be stuck in this room otherwise?"
"I want to slap you."
"Do it then," he pauses, "oh wait, sorry, I forgot you can't."
I growl, again.
"Today is another day to strike."
"You're sick."
"Why thank you friend."
"Now," he carries on, "I have a job for you to do." He goes out of the room, and I breathe out a sigh. He's such a jerk, a bastard. My hand aches from rope burn.
"I'm back, did you miss me?"
"You wish," I say, wishing even more that he was within my distance so I could spit on him. He has something on his hands, and he comes right up and next to me, then kneels. He lifts up my trouser legs, and then places a heavy device onto my foot. "W-what are you doing?"
"Putting on a tracking device onto you," he says, "you thought I'd let you leave so easily?"
"You're letting me leave?"
"If someone met you right now, they'd be calling you dumb."
"Let's see how good of a stalker you can be," he says as he slows untied the ropes on the chair. Fear over washes me, this can't be good. Eliza, please stay safe.
